


Ser Uña y Carne

by ironiccowboykink



Category: Spider Man: Into The Spiderverse, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Blood, Canon Typical Violence, Child trauma, F/F, F/M, Injury, M/M, Miles has anxiety, Miles is a friendly boy, Multi, No One Ever Really Dies— the AU, Peter is the dad I always wanted so FUCK narrative deaths, Rewriting Canon, The Dad Au, The peters get so much love, Trauma, and uncle Aaron reminds me of my dad so no we are meta’ing that right now, even the pig, everybody gets a dad, he is so anxious, help him, i have no reason other than self indulgence, people are more valuable alive than dead, watch as Soccer Dad and Burrito dad exasperatedly foster everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 11:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18119777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironiccowboykink/pseuds/ironiccowboykink
Summary: Peter just laughs. “You’re talking out loud again, kid.”There’s a moment where the two just look at each other, laughing more than is warranted, mirroring smiles of opposite emotions.Then, with a groan, Peter’s eyes roll back in his head and he passes out.Edit: I accidentally tagged this work as ‘Peter B. Parker/Gwen Stacy”. Firstly, I mixed up Gwen Stacy and MJ. Secondly, I do not, will not, will NEVER support pedophilia in any way, shape, or form. The tags have now been corrected.An AU where everyone who died in ITSPV doesn’t, because I think death isn’t necessary to advance plot or help a person grow. Also I’m tired of black characters I love dying.





	Ser Uña y Carne

**Author's Note:**

> I know Uncle Aaron is a villain who is black rather than a black villain (ie a villain who just happens to be black rather than a villain whose most important attribute is their blackness), and that really appeased my ruffled feathers, it still made me sad when he died. Also, I’m not Latina, Mexican, Spanish— basically I don’t know anything about Spanish/Latinx/Mexican culture, I am learning Spanish in class and I would really super appreciate people’s assistance! Correct me, yell at me. I will do my best to accurately represent your language and culture in Miles and Río. Thank you for your patience and time!

Miles can easily say that fear is the most prominent emotion in his life. 

He’s been afraid before. Anxious, even. Afraid to fail, afraid of disappointing someone, of getting hurt. 

But none of that compares to _this._

Miles drags the body of Spider-Man— freaking Spider-Man!— across debris, apologizing frantically under his breath whenever his head knocks against broke concrete or bent pipes. It’s all Miles can do, apologize, because his newfound strength seems to be failing him and he can’t carry Spider-Man, and he’s so so fucking scared, his lips are dry with how hard he’s been breathing and when he licks them it stings. 

Spider-Man is so heavy. That thing—the purple person with glowy eyes that saw into Miles’ soul— stands by Kingpin. He roars, _”FIND HIM!”_ shaking with fury. Kingpin screams, and with a nod they flit off like a shadow. Miles feels himself choking all of a sudden and it’s just— it’s just him. He’s panicking, and his fingers are starting to ache with how hard he’s gripping Spider-Man’s torso. Kingpin stalks around like a tiger, his size belying his stealth. The other guy— Prowler—well, he doesn’t even know. Miles’ eyes are wide and his head pounds. 

He can’t make any noise, he can’t. He skirts by the cooling body of the Green Goblin? He thinks? He’s not entirely sure. It’s like the world is too loud. The colors are too loud, the _thump-thump_ of footsteps are too loud, the slow, long drag of body against concrete is _too loud._ He can’t shut his eyes against the loudness. He can’t do anything but fumble with Spider-Man’s hands and shoot a web at the gap in the subway; the _thwip!_ is as damning as it is relieving. The footsteps stop. 

“Please, please come on,” Miles begs, clinging to Spider-Man’s limp body. The web finally catches, pulls taunt and Miles _flies,_ he swings through the air and— he’s going too fast. He’s going too fast and he can’t turn his body and knocks directly into the corner of the ceiling of the subway and the wall of destroyed reactor room. His vision swims, the breath punched out of his lungs, but he can’t _stop here,_ he’s got to—

_Well,_ Miles thinks, sprawled out and heaving terribly on the floor next to Spider-Man, who has miraculously landed face down like a starfish. _maybe I can stop here for just a little bit._

He’s barely up on his feet when a spark of purple catches him by surprise, ripping its claws across his chest and consequently tearing his favorite hoodie. “Hey!” He shouts, waving Spider-Man’s limp noodle arm at his offender. “My uncle gave me this hoodie!”

It hesitates. He. She. It. They? They hesitate, just a moment, stepping back like they’ve just seen something _terrible._ And then Prowler shakes it off, body moving in sections like a great big dog, and surges forward like a wave, claws out to rip into him again. Miles yelps and dodges, kicking back with enough force that he crashes back into the wall. It lunges for him again and Miles skitters to the left, sweeping Spider-Man to his feet and taking off down the subway on new wings. He feels a clawed hand dig into his shoulder and Miles reaches up to frantically pull it off and suddenly Prowler is blasted back, and they burn and crackle with blue static, and Miles doesn’t even turn back to see if they’re okay as he bolts.

As he runs, the pain melts away.

He doesn’t even notice the blood seeping through the front of his shirt.  
——  
Miles pants on the floor, tucked away in a corner with Spider-Man leaning heavily on his front. His breathing cools the sweat on his neck and Miles is so relieved he trembles, almost sobs into the unconscious stranger acting like an unwilling body shield. Throwing Spider-Man into the platform and then narrowly avoiding being crushed by a train with a lucky jump is still fresh in his mind. He can’t will himself to move. 

Prowler had rushed past him minutes ago, battering him and Peter with a rush of cold, dirty air. It was all Miles could do to stay quiet, clamp his had over his mouth and not squeak. He’s pretty sure he hit his head at some point. Warmth leeches out him into the stone walls and makes his eyelids droop. He’s too tired to drag himself to his feet.

So he stays there, shaking, rubbing his aching joints and hoping no one calls to see where he is.  
——  
It’s hours later after he unsticks himself. His whole body protests when he moves, but he has to get Spider-Man somewhere and maybe treat his injuries. Miles doesn’t know what’s going on with his body, it’s not like Spider-Man is telling him. He heaves with the effort of picking the man up and makes his way home. 

Miles wrinkles his nose. Home. It’s not really home yet, he’s only been there a few days. But Miles thinks it’s easier to climb up a wall using Spider-Man’s hands and haul his ass through the window than try and hide a grown man in his tiny home. Try to hide a grown _Spider-Man._ Spider-Man might get a pass for crawling in some kid’s room to recover, but _not_ in the home of Río Morales and Jefferson Davis. 

He sleeps really peacefully. It’s weird, Miles thinks, watching his chest rise and fall. Someone who’s been through so much. He sleeps like the dead, Miles suddenly thinks, and shudders.

Can he— would Spidey be mad if he tried to check him for injuries? He’s already seen his face, kinda. One single blue eye peering up at him through a ripped mask. Miles pokes him. Once, twice. Spidey doesn’t move and so, carefully, like defusing a bomb, he hooks his fingers under the lip of Spidey’s mask and—

“Hey, kid. Don’t like that.”

Spider-Man’s voice is raspy with... sleep? Maybe? Or… death. Which Miles doesn’t want to think about. He sits up and gently knocks Miles’ hand away, and seeing Spider-Man so injured in the flesh really does some stuff to Miles’ heartbeat and blood pressure, of which are currently skyrocketing to inhuman levels. It’s like, wow! Spider-Man! That’s so cool! But also, wow. Spider-Man is bleeding all over my sheets. Hey, is anybody else dizzy right now?

“Uh, no.” Spider-Man responds, smiling with mirth. It seems he’s said all of that out loud. “Glad to know I have a fan? But, kid, how did you—” He cuts himself off with a low gasp. Even with the mask half-on Miles can tell that he’s displeased. 

Spider-Man’s body is tense like a bowstring; if his fingers weren’t still mostly gloved, he’s sure his knuckles would be white with how hard he’s gripping the mattress. Miles sweats and he follows the gaze of a single blue eye down to his chest.

“Oh.” When Miles pulls his hand away, sticky with blood, he wonders if all of it is draining towards the wound because he feels inexplicably cold. He wonders why it doesn’t hurt so much. He wonders because the adrenaline wore off a long time ago, and he wonders why he already feels scarring along the wound. No, it’s completely scabbed over— Miles suddenly craves a cookie. “I— it’s… fine. It’s not bleeding anymore.” Even he can’t stop himself from sounding confused. 

Spidey visibly deflates he’s so thankful. “Healing factor,” he breathes, flopping back on Miles’ bed. Then he’s laughing hysterically and Miles is— he’s completely at a loss for what to do, because this is getting more and more bizarre, and he just _really really_ wants to sleep. Spider-Man pulls his mask off faster than Miles can tell him not to and laughs-gasps-shouts like he’s dying. “Ohhhh kid, we’re deep in the paint now.” He peeks up at Miles through broken-ish fingers and sweaty blonde hair. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Miles,” he whispers. 

“Peter.” 

Miles glows. He’s so proud of being able to know Peter’s name. “I— I’m Miles,” he says again, because his two brain cells are malfunctioning and it’s Peter Man. Spider Peter. That’s amazing. This is amazing. He just healed a maybe fatal chest wound. And Miles didn’t even know he did it!

Peter just laughs. “You’re talking out loud again, kid.”

There’s a moment where the two just look at each other, laughing more than is warranted, mirroring smiles of opposite emotions.

Then, with a groan, Peter’s eyes roll back in his head and he passes out.

Miles startles into action and goes to catch him before he hits his head against the wall. His pulse stutters again and he looks over Peter wearily; ugh, he’s not looking forward to prodding around for bruises. Miles shudders. He’s never been very good with those. Or blood. Or injury in general.

He tugs on the neck of the onesie and immediately recoils, falling back on his ass. “Oh my God this is… this the worst. This is an invasion of privacy. I’m— I’m going to go to jail for molesting Spider-Man, oh my god—“ Miles cuts off his own tirade with a heavy, nervous sigh and a drag off his palm across his face.

Maybe… maybe he’ll just go out and get some medical supplies from CVS. “You woke up once before…” he mumbles. His whole medical plan pretty much banks on Peter not waking up before he gets back but also waking up at some point in general, which is risky for any number of reasons but it’s not like he can really plan things out right now! 

So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours it’s unbelievable. 

He takes one last look at Peter. He’s actually snoring. Wow. “Ey, Spider-Man snores!” he breathes, and then thinks about jumping before just carefully lowering himself out the window, and considers it a small victory that he sticks consistently enough to make it to the ground unharmed. 

The walk to the pharmacy is surprisingly long. Miles’ limbs drag like an anchor at sea. There’s a dull ache deep in his bones. Exhaustion curls around him like a lover, and even the nightlife can’t cheer him up like it usually does. 

He wonders what this means now. What all of this will mean. For him, for his family. For New York. He’s like Peter— _Spider-Man_ —of whom is in his dorm room. Will he have to be the next Spider-Man? 

...Miles doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to be like this. He’s just a kid, and he’s going to have to save the world? 

“But only if…” Miles finds himself saying, and falls silent. He doesn’t want to think about what comes after that.

He thinks about another if. If Peter is going to stay, _when_ he wakes up. 

He can only hope that will be the case. Peter has so much to teach Miles, about how to stick to walls and swing from webs. He’s so tired he can’t even bring himself to wince as he remembers poor Gwanda’s hair. 

The sidewalk seems to stretch on forever.

By the time he gets there he wants to cry. Miles drifts like a ghost to the medical aisle and, as he’s in the middle of deliberating between Spongebob band aids and actual gauze (What if Peter’s all healed by the time he gets there and then he doesn’t really even need the bandages? But what if he _does?_ Will Peter appreciate the sentiment?? Does he even like Spongebob?!), a hand clamps down on his shoulder so suddenly he lets out a loud and definitely manly scream.

“Woah,” the offender says. Despite very clearly looking surprised, he manages to keep a lazy look on his face. “where’d you— how’d you do that?”

He also appears to have turned invisible. 

When Miles looks down at his hands, he sees the floor. More importantly, he sees the purple-pink highlight that shows where he is. It’s kind of trippy and it hurts his eyes a little to look at because it’s so thin. Instead, he looks up at the hoodie man and squints. “What do you want from me?” Miles thrusts the box of bandaids out like a weapon. 

“Uhh.” The man’s face twists in some sort of disgruntled dissatisfaction. “Okay, well come on back first. You’re like a little ghost.” 

“I’m not sure I know how,” Miles squeaks.

He raises an eyebrow and— okay, Miles squawks indignantly. That is so uncalled for, that judgement face he’s making! It’s not like he’s spent twenty years being spidery or else he’d—

A strange feeling, like nails lightly running down his neck, streaks up his spine. The world wavers, shimmers, brightens; Miles blinks back against the light, but his gaze is stuck firmly on the man across from him.

It’s just like when he met Peter for the first time, it’s just like, it’s just, it’s—

“You’re just like me,” they both breathe.


End file.
